“Why are you drinking it?”
“Can’t taste it.” He pats his hand over his face. “Can’t feel my face.”
I pat mine and laugh. “Can’t feel mine, either.”
We cackle so hard my eyes water and my chest heaves, and I have to chase my hiccups down with more beer. Our shoulders bash together as we laugh, and we end up falling over each other, propping each other up, until laughter becomes wheezing, and wheezing becomes calmer.
We sit abruptly, which—for me at least—makes the room spin. Flynn’s face is green. Is he sitting on a spinning top, too? Why does that shade of green suit him? Damnit, he’d even look adorable puking his guts up.
“You’d better not puke.”
He glares at me. He has a sexy glare. “You’d better not puke, either. I couldn’t carry you to the bathroom.”
But I could carry him. I have muscles. Why am I flexing my arms? Oh, yeah, to show him my muscles. They’re big.
Flynn widens his eyes to anime proportions. “Whoa! They’re huge.” He drains his bottle, drops it on the floor, twists onto his knees on the sofa, and squeezes my biceps. “Wow! Hugeandhard.”
“That’s not the only part of me that’s huge and hard.”
We stare at each other for a beat and then splutter-laugh until we’re cackling again. He sways, loses his balance, and crashes into me. Which is fine, because Flynn isn’t huge. Or it would be fine if I could keep my balance, which I can’t. We sprawl on the sofa, him on top of me, our chests heaving, eyes locked, and now I’m hard all over.
His eyes get even wider. He pushes away, slams against the far arm of the sofa, and winces and rubs his back.
“Shit! Are you okay?” My heart is hammering. I’m beside him in an instant.
Our eyes meet again, and then we’re kissing. Who started it? No clue. It’s messy and frantic, and we can’t seem to get our noses or chins or tongues in the right places. We’re gasping and panting, and our hands are everywhere. And then we’re pulling apart, retreating to opposite ends of the sofa, glaring at each other. Fuck, I hate him. I hate the way his lips and chin are glistening with my saliva. Hate how good his mouth felt against mine.
“My muscles look even better with baby oil.” What the fuck am I saying?
Flynn blinks. If we were in an anime, someone would throw achink chinksound effect over his exaggerated blinks. “Baby oil?”
“Yeah. Wanna see?” He’s going to say ‘no’.
“Okay.”
Huh?
“Your muscles arebig.” He sounds so awestruck.
Well, who am I to disappoint? If he wants bigmuscles, I’ll give him big muscles. My kit bag is in the corner of the room, so I don’t have to go far to find a small bottle of baby oil. I whip my top off, and smooth oil over my arms and chest until my skin is glistening. I stand and do my best strong man impression, face expressions and all.
“Wow.” Flynn is drooling.
Yeah, I’m sexy. I’m not in control of myself as I take my jeans and socks off, so I’m wearing nothing but my tight, white pants, which do nothing to hide my erection. I rub baby oil over my legs. I give him another strong man show, flexing my muscles so much that my veins become prominent.
“Wow. You’re big. And strong.” His stare travels up and down my body, spurring me to show off even more. “How’d you end up looking thathot?”
Flynn thinks I’m hot? That shouldn’t make me happy. Nope. Because I hate him. I don’t care whathethinks.
Not that it stops me from grinning like the Cheshire bloody Cat. “I work out.”
“Yeah, you do,” he says breathily.
“I showed you mine, now you show me yours.” What the fuck? My mouth is moving, sound is coming out, but I have zero control over what I’m saying.
“My—?”
I gesture at him. “Muscles.”
